Every Day After
by Gail Lucinda Autor
Summary: Very late Post Always-fic, and yes, darling, there are spoilers. Fairly high T-rating, but I'm not going to call it M-cursing and some sexuality. What happens after...
1. Chapter 1

**Hey everybody. So, even though this is technically a one-shot, I guess I forgot to mark it complete, because I've had a request or two to keep it going as well as a few subscriptions to it. So, if you would like me to continue it, leave me a review asking me too. If I get enough, I'll continue it.**

**I don't own Castle. If I did, they would've been sleeping together for at least a year now xD**

**Enjoy!**

Their hands lace together, and their fingers fit perfectly.

They both know where she's leading them when they pull away from the door. She bites her lip just a little, a nervous sort of way. But it's okay. Everything is okay.

The first time is fast, desperate—needy and rushing and they both climax in no time at all, sobbing in relief, everything building between them for four years finally out in the open, finally emptied as they carry each other through, down, down.

The second time is slower, sweeter, more about the journey than anything else. The world is not going to be yanked out from under them. They have time—time to savor, time to love. Time for him to suck gently on the skin at the base of her throat. Time for her to nibble the inside of his wrist, the pads of his fingers while his other hand is busy, maybe biting down a little harder than is necessary when he moves it a certain way.

Time.

Time for an after.

And both of them are thinking that the after is nearly as good as the thing itself.

He's behind her, holding her, one hand resting on her abdomen, his head in the cradle of her neck and shoulder. She's reaching back, stroking his hair.

They're quiet, listening to each other breathe as they rest, sated for the moment.

"Are you going to tell me what happened?" Castle asks, his voice raw, a little hoarse. He moves his mouth to the round knob of the vertebra at the top of her spine, starts to trace it slowly with his tongue, making her shiver.

"I already did," she murmurs, her own hand moving to cover his at her stomach, moving her thumb slowly back and forth, back and forth.

"I'm a writer," he grunts, moving up to that tender place where her ear hits the top of her jaw. "I like details."

She shivers as his tongue flicks into the delicate shell of her ear, warm, slow, sensual.

"Could you be more specific?"

"Fine." He curls his hand in a lock of her hair, still damp, soaking his soft pillowcase. "How did you get so wet?"

She rolls over, facing him. He has one hand on the small of her back now, one tangled in her hair. Holding her close, but there's still space between them, enough to look her in the eye. There's a reverence in his face that sends little waves of electricity through her body, makes her glow with the warm worship of his gaze.

"I went to the swings," she says finally. He nods. There's another question in his eye, a curious crease in his brow, but he doesn't voice it, expecting more, which she gives. "I…saw where you had been sitting next to me. It was filling up with rain. And I hated that it was empty. You…should've been there with me."

They fill him, her words. Make him warm, make him even more sated.

"Sleep," he tells her, softly.

"What?" she frowns.

"Sleep. You're tired. You—you almost—"

He can't bring himself to finish the statement. _You almost died._

"I don't want to sleep," she whispers, but he can see it there, in those sweet, warm eyes. She's tired.

"Sleep, Beckett." His voice is gentle, quiet, coaxing. "I want you asleep in my bed. And I promise I'll be here when you wake up."

….

She does wake up.

The middle of the night, and she's falling.

_Castle! _

_Beckett! Just hang on!_

_Castle! _

_Castle!_

But this time there was no hand with a silver wedding band, no Ryan or Castle or anyone else pulling her up.

She lets out a shaky sob before she can stop herself, heart pounding. Kate struggles to catch her breath. Beside her, Castle stirs, turning to look at her with sweet, sleepy blue eyes. He sees the look on her face and they snap awake, worried.

"Kate?" he says, his voice hoarse. "What's wrong?"

She comes in to him, buries her face in the crook of his throat, her lips brushing the hollow between the two halves of his clavicle. He folds her into his arms, rubbing her back, full of wonder. She smells sweetly of rain and sweat and something feminine in a raw, sensual way that makes the hairs on the back of his neck prickle.

"You're scaring me, Kate," he persists, a little, nervous chuckle escaping him as she seals her lips against his skin, kissing her way along his neck slowly. She feels…relieved. Open.

Scared.

"Beckett." He cups her face, pulls her away from him, makes her look him in the eye. "What's going on?"

"I need you," she says simply. Her eyes flicker to his mouth. She wonders what he tastes like at three in the morning. Any different from the way he did before? She wants to know what he tastes like all the time.

She can tell he's about to speak again, make her talk, make her confess. And once she starts, she knows she won't be able to stop. So she pushes back on his shoulders, rolls him flat on his back, crouches over him on all fours.

"I've waited four years, Castle," she whispers huskily, her eyes roaming over him, noting that his own are growing steadily darker, drinking in her bareness as she hovers above him, lowering her hips slowly.

"Four years and you're in my bed," he growls, reaching up to grasp her hipbone, pull it flush against him.

"I'm in your bed," she agrees. And she sets out to investigate just how he tastes at this time of night.

...

Morning comes with light between the curtains, a sliver of sun slicing across his bed.

He's alone.

For a second he panics—panics at the absence of her warmth beside him, panics at the thought that maybe the whole thing was just a dream, or that she's left him. Again.

He sits bolt upright. "Kate," he calls out. "Kate!"

Then he notices the light beneath the bathroom door, hears the toilet flush, the water in the shower begin to run as she pokes her head out through the door.

"Geez, Castle, calm down," she says, crossing the room to perch on the bed next to him, give him a gentle, soothing kiss. "Good morning to you, too."

"You're naked," he blurts. She arches a perfect eyebrow.

"Most people shower naked, Castle," she tells him dryly, pulling away.

"Well, isn't that convenient," he answers, tossing off the covers, under which he is in a matching state of undress. "I seem to be ready for a shower, too!"

Beckett rolls her eyes and for a second he fears he's gone too far as she stands and walks toward the bathroom door, but she turns just as she reaches it.

"You coming, Castle?" she asks, smiling just a little.

He can't get out of bed fast enough.

A little while later, the hot water pouring down on them, her legs wrapped around his waist, his mouth worshipping her skin, her head tipped back against the tile, mouth open, little sounds coming from her throat that make him want her even more.

It's their after.

Every day will be their after.

Because last night—that was their beginning.

She hasn't said she loves him yet, but that's okay. She'll show him—every day—until she learns just how to tell him.

And every day after that, too.


	2. Chapter 2

**So, I started thinking about keeping this going and once I started I couldn't stop. I have already written part of the last chapter xD In fact, I wrote that before I wrote this. So we'll see how long this story ends up being. **

**Anyways, guys, enjoy. And keep in mind that I wrote this at 2 in the morning and will probably end up finding a bunch of mistakes tomorrow. Oh well! **

She can't believe how sore she is when she finally makes it out of that shower.

Bruises have begun blooming on her skin, and he notices. She watches his eyes in the mirror as they roam over her body, even as she wraps herself in a towel in an attempt to hide the dark bits marking her skin.

"Are you going to tell me a little more about what happened?" he wonders, gently tugging the white towel from her hands, turning her to face him. She's bruised everywhere. Why hadn't he seen it before?

"Oh my God," he mutters. "When we—didn't that hurt?"

"Not really," she answers, snagging her towel from him and wrapping her hair up in it. She turns back to face the mirror, runs a finger under her eyelid to catch a stray bit of liner. She can feel his concerned eyes on her, seeking out each little imperfection.

And despite the length of time since she's taken her clothes off in his apartment, only now has she begun to feel actually, physically naked.

She wants her towel back.

She reaches for it, but he crowds her from behind and stills her hand, lacing his fingers through hers.

"Don't," he tells her. "You're beautiful."

He kisses one of the bruises on her neck and hangs the towel back on the rack. He leaves her there for a moment and goes into the bedroom to get her clothes. They're scattered all across the floor, tossed carelessly aside. It takes him some time to hunt down everything, and none of it's dry. He tosses it all in the dryer and roots around in his closet for a T-shirt and even comes up with some sweatpants. There's a pair of boxers, too, if she wants them.

When he walks back into the bathroom, she's leaning against the counter, arms crossed over her chest, drawing patterns in the water on the floor with her toe. The towel hangs on the rack still, but she doesn't look cold; there's steam on the mirror over the double sink. She glances up when he walks in and he's surprised after her openness last night at her eagerness to cover herself. She takes the clothes from him with an arched eyebrow and tugs the shirt on quickly.

"Where are my clothes?" she wants to know.

"Everything but the coat is in the dryer," he says. "They were all too damp."

"Oh. That's okay. My fault." She holds up the boxers and looks at them. He clears his throat awkwardly.

"You don't, ah, have to wear those," he tells her nervously, wondering if maybe he's gone too far.

"No," she replies thoughtfully, tugging them on. "They're…soft." She leaves the sweatpants on the counter.

…

Kate Beckett is wearing his boxers.

_Kate Beckett _is _wearing his boxers_**. **

Kate Beckett is in his loft drinking coffee in his T-shirt and _his boxers_.

Rick's at the stove, scrambling eggs with a whole buttload of butter. She's perched on his counter in his too-big-for-her T-shirt (and, he keeps reminding himself, his _boxers_), sipping at a good strong cup of coffee. It's more exotic than she's used to, but she is, as she said, "choking it down" (and seems to be enjoying it).

She's just happy to be drinking from his Writer mug, a big ceramic thing that matches his Kevlar. It sends a little pang through her, knowing she's not going to see him wear that anytime soon, but it's warm in her hands and it's a part of him, this mug.

And besides that, the coffee is incredible.

He piles a few strips of bacon and a heap of eggs on a plate for her, sprinkles the buttery eggs with a dash of paprika, a little salt and pepper. She watches him hungrily, and he's pretty sure her eyes are locked on breakfast and not him. Still, the openly staring is gratifying.

He grabs her a fork and sets the plate in her lap. He could swear she's drooling. "Food," she moans, shoving a strip of bacon entirely into her mouth, her eyes rolling back in her head in ecstasy. "You are my savior."

"Glad I could be of service," he says a little dryly, serving himself and perching on the island across from her.

"Richard Castle," she exclaims, her fork halfway to her mouth. "Are you jealous of my breakfast?"

"Hey," he grumps, poking her with his fork, "I just got you and you're already making love to that bacon."

Kate laughs. "Mmm," she moans, sucking on the end of a bacon strip. "Oh, that's nice. Oh, bacon. Ohh."

"Kate Beckett," he scolds, watching her with something like arousal in his eyes. "You stop that right now."

"Oh, Castle. Admit it. You think it's sexy," she teases, leaning over to give him a bite of her eggs.

"No bacon?" he asks.

"I don't share bacon," she tells him, eating another piece.

Is this really the same person who tried to hide herself from him after their shower?

"Now that," he says, watching her guard her bacon, "is pretty fucking sexy."

She laughs and finishes the rest of her bacon, making sexy faces and drawing her tongue along each piece in a way that brings back rather vivid memories from last night and causes the front of his boxers to go just a little tight.

"You better stop that, Kate," he growls, scraping his teeth along his fork, finishing the last of his eggs.

She holds up her hands in surrender. "I'm done, Rick. It's okay."

"Too late," he snarls, snatching her empty plate out of her hands and discarding it onto the counter beside her as he presses her back against the wall.

…

She cries out, and it's not the good kind. Not the kind he likes.

He stops instantly, even as she reaches out for him, tries to call him back, tells him it's nothing.

She's so close, and he's pulling away.

"Castle," she gasps, struggling to return him to her on the kitchen counter, legs spread wide, incredibly full of need.

"No," he tells her, pressing her hands to the countertop. "No. You're too sore. No."

"You're not going to hurt me," she whines, desperate for him.

"I just did," he answers calmly, stepping away from her.

"How would you know?"

"That sound was pain."

"How would you know?"

"I just do, Kate. We'll try again in a few days. When you've had more time to recover."

She stares at him.

"Are you crazy?" she demands breathlessly. "We have been waiting for this for four years and you expect us to stop for a few days?"

"Kate," he insists, his blue eyes full of pain. "I can't stand to hurt you."

"Castle," she says. Her hand cups his stubbly jaw, and she caresses his cheekbone with her thumb. "I'm a big girl. I can handle myself. If I need you to stop, I'll tell you to stop. Just…please…"

Oh, fuck. How can he deny her this?

After he brings her through—on his kitchen counter, which makes him wonder exactly what other surfaces in his loft they can do this on—he brushes his mouth against one of the bruises on her neck and makes her a deal.

"You have to tell me what happened now. As much as you can."

It's too soon. She wants more of the carefree before she hurts him with this.

"Tomorrow?" she offers, panting softly as he traces his tongue along her skin.

He pauses, considering.

"No. Now. No more of this until you tell me." He pulls away, leans his forehead against hers, removes the T-shirt, starts to map every bruise and mark on her skin with his eyes.

She shivers, bare again. Vulnerable. But he holds her.

And she tells him.


	3. Chapter 3

**I feel like the mood changes too fast in this chapter, but it's all I have right now. Stupid plot bunnies. Just tell me what yall think, please! Part of why this took so long is I lack motivation. Why do I lack motivation? The last chapter got three reviews. Four is being held hostage until I get at least 8. Probably. I feel like that's a little high but come on, twenty two of you subscribed to this story. If you want more, please ask for it. **

**Anywho, enjoy! I own nothing. **

She watches his face until she can't stand to any longer.

There is an incredible amount of pain there, as if he were being made to watch that man beat her, throw her to the ground, strangle her.

When she rolls off the edge of the roof, she hears Castle suck in a gasp with a ragged, aching sound that moves deep through her core. Her eyes, which have been steadfastly glued to the floor, dart to his face.

He's leaning back against the island, and the look on his face cuts straight through her. He's tied down, watching from the edge of the roof, unable to reach out and pull her up. She pauses, reaches out to cradle his face in her hand. He leans into it for a moment, then pushes her away.

His voice is choked, but he manages to get it out: "Finish." He's having trouble looking at her, too. They can't look at each other as she tells him she thought she heard his voice—thought it was him running towards her instead of Ryan.

When she gets to his hand seizing hers at the last moment, dragging her up, she stops. The rest of it can wait—and he only said to tell him as much as she could.

His face is in his hands and she slides off the counter, standing there before him, utterly bare. She rests a hand on his knee, strokes it with her thumb. The gesture seems so suddenly intimate, and yet so natural and right.

God Almighty. She's broken Castle, she thinks, feeling him tremble.

He sucks in a shaky breath and looks up at her, his face stricken, disbelieving.

"Kate," he whispers. She removes her hand, steps back for a second. He stands.

"Kate." He can't look her in the eye. "You almost died."

"But I didn't," she soothes, moving towards him, resting her forehead against his. She locks her fingers around his neck, tries to turn his face to hers.

"But you almost did," he answers hoarsely. He disentangles himself from her embrace and moves off a little bit. He leans against the island again, further down, with her standing a foot away. The look on his face is lost, stricken as he stares at the floor, struggling to breathe. "I…" He stops, looks at her, open mouthed like the words are stuck. "You almost died, and we…"

"I told you last night," she points out. She doesn't reach out to him. She stays where he left her, still naked, waiting for him to offer her cover.

"You told me, but I didn't know," he whispers. "Oh God, I didn't…" He looks back up at her, his expression one of shock, disbelief. "I had no idea. You almost _died._"

"I'm here now," she insists. "I'm okay."

"Oh God, Kate," he gasps, and then she's in his arms, and he's rocking her softly, crushing her to his chest. He can't possibly let go of her now.

She lets him hold her, hold her tight. She could swear he's crying by the ragged rise and fall of his chest. He's cradling her, sheltering her, struggling to cover her naked body, her vulnerable self, her bruise-marked skin that suddenly seems as thin as tissue paper to him.

No. That's wrong. She's so strong, and she's safe, and she's here. But for now…for now he lets himself believe that she can be protected.

That he can protect her.

…

_I almost died._

When she'd said that last night, he thought she'd meant something about staring down the barrel of a gun, as usual.

But no. She'd been hanging by her fingertips a jillion stories up, struggling, this close from death.

No way to talk her way out.

No way to dodge.

No possible way to pull through.

She's standing in front of his dryer, slowly pulling her clothes back on. He's leaned up against the wall behind her, half-watching the woman in front of him, half watching the same woman struggle, beg, cry out, this close to death.

"Next time I see Ryan, he is getting the biggest bear hug of his life," Castle declares suddenly, breaking the silence as she pulls on her T-shirt. She makes a noncommittal noise and casts him a small smile over her shoulder.

"Castle, I have to ask you," she begins, turning around so she's facing him, the dryer pressing into her lower back.

"Anything," he says, moving to perch next to her.

"Why was that story so…horrible to you?" Kate wonders, taking his hand, examining it, glancing up to his face and then back down to his fingers.

"Because there wasn't a way for you to get out of it," he says simply, looking down at their hands and giving hers a squeeze.

She nods and moves away from the dryer, lacing their fingers together, watching them fit. She never gets tired of seeing their puzzle pieces come together.

"Come on. Alexis will be home soon," she says, leading him out of the laundry room.

…

He's waiting for his daughter at the door with a big cup of coffee. She stumbles in, bleary eyed, and takes it with an exhausted smile.

She looks tired.

She looks elated.

She looks…_old._

"Hot damn," he says. "You're a high school graduate."

She laughs and sips the coffee, then makes a face and almost spits it out.

"Too strong?" he asks with a smirk. "I have the weak stuff in the kitchen, but I figured, since you're an adult now…"

"Still a minor, dad," she reminds him, smelling the contents of her mug. "Black coffee? Really? Expecting me to come home hungover?" she asks, tossing her purse onto the couch and moving to follow it down.

"Hoping, actually," he says with a smile. "I'm looking forward to seeing how you hold your liquor. Will you be like dad or mom?"

"You mean, will I steal a horse naked or dance around a bar naked? Exactly why I _don't _drink," she shoots back, smiling just a little as she runs her fingers through her hair, leans her tired head against the couch cushion.

"Atta girl, stay legal," a third voice smiles from the stairs. Alexis's head snaps up as Kate walks down, grinning. "Hey there, graduate."

"Detective Beckett!" she calls out, her voice tired but her words happy and as energetic as she can make them. The woman walks over to give the gir-younger woman, she supposes now-a hug. Alexis embraces her tightly. "It's great to see you, Kate," she says when they finally break apart. Kate smiles still wider and moves to stand next to Castle, who is watching her with something like wonder in his eyes.

He wonders where in the world his daughter's perceptiveness comes from-it could be him, he supposes, but it's certainly not Meredith-as she glances back and forth between him and Beckett, something like realization dawning in her eyes. After a moment (and a flash of mischief he swears he sees on her face but could have imagined), she gathers herself off the couch with a great amount of effort and moves toward the staircase Kate just came down.

"I'm going to take a nap, but when I get up…it looks as if you two have a lot to tell me," she says with a wink. She blows a kiss to her father and waves to Beckett.

She pauses at the top of the stairwell. "Don't have too much fun while I'm gone, kids."

"Kids?" he mutters once she's gone, utterly bewildered.

"She's an old soul, Castle," Kate sighs, leaning against him, taking his hand.

"Yeah, but...she's still a kid," he insists, frowning.

"Oh, come on, Castle," she teases, poking him in the stomach. He makes a face at her. "She's been more mature than you since she learned to talk."

He flashes her a little grin. "Oh, Kate," he says. "Do I really need to show you how mature I am?"


End file.
